new_albion_vtmfandomcom-20200213-history
2024.05.04: Lizzy realizes she's not in Texas any more...
Lizzy is back at the New Albion Brewery taproom, on another stitch 'n' bitch night. She has a beer. She has a pair of socks on the needles (two at once, on two circular needles, because fuck magic loop and second sock syndrome. They're only just started, but there's enough there to show it's for adult-sized feet. At some point later, Lizzy's phone rings, when she picks it up, she hears Marcus' baritone on the other line. "Ms. McCrory?" Lizzy seems a bit startled at first when she sees who is calling, but she picks up anyway. "Mr. Antoninus." Her voice is a wee bit crisp. She has to put down her knitting and pick up her beer. "I know that you seemed quite upset with me earlier this evening. First, I'd like to apologize for any offense I've caused. Second, I'd like to offer something by way of an explanation." He pauses, and you can hear a faint chuckle in his voice "And Ms. Ashview did not ask me to do this." "I can offer you a drink, by way of an apology" "I would like to think that my employer would at least have the impression that I am capable of keeping my work and personal life separate. If she knows about me being upset with you, that is..." She searches for the words to deliver with icy precision. "...not good." She either picked that up on the job or that was one of the reasons Doris hired her. "As for a drink, I'm enjoying one right now, but knowing what you do, you probably already know where I'm having this drink. Is this an acceptable location for you, or do you want somewhere where you can have your usual?" "She did not indicate to me that she knew you were upset with me. I saw no need to tell her. Though, I don't know where you are at this moment." He pauses "There are limits, even for those in my profession. I would not do that." A pause. He likely cannot see the excessively smug smile spreading on her face. "Fair. I'll accept your peace offering. Preferably somewhere public, if you don't mind? There's... a lot going on, so a girl has to be careful." "Believe me, I understand. Anywhere is fine." A pause on his end, "though you had mentioned you are having a drink now - I'd be pleased to join you, but you'll have to tell me where, exactly, you are." "The New Albion Brewery taproom. They only serve beer, and specifically their own. Oh, and be prepared for a lot of women and a lot of yarn." A moment’s pause while he punches the location into his GPS before he quips "If you're warning me about beer and a lot of women, you clearly haven't done your homework, Ms. McCrory" (his voice sounds like he is clearly teasing). "I'll be there in 20 minutes or so." "I'll be here." Her tone has lightened up a smidgen. When he arrives, there is, in fact, a bunch of women, all in the midst of various yarncrafting projects. Knitters, crocheters, even the odd embroiderer is in the mix. Lizzy has secured a table in the back, and gotten a few more rows into those socks. They're a mid-range blue, and there's some nice cabling along the area going over the top of the foot. Marcus walks into the taproom and spots Lizzy at her table. He walks towards it and looks around as he does so to ensure that while still public, it offers the ability to have a discreet conversation. "Ms. McCrory, good evening." He says as he sits down. She offers him a nod in greeting. "Glad you found the place okay. Did you want to get that beer first?" "I think I would. What are you having?" "Mocha milkshake stout. It's almost gone, since they do small batch, so I'm getting it while I can." She grins. Oh yeah, it's one of THOSE kinds of breweries. Marcus thinks a moment "Mocha milkshake stout..." Quietly, almost to himself. "I'll be right back." And he walks towards the bar. If you watch him, you can see him sample a couple of different brews - including the stout - before returning to the table with Lizzy's pint, and a pint of something amber-coloured, but cloudy. "The stout was excellent, but I decided to try something a bit different. They call it an Imperial Funk?" His voice is questioning the name "It's delicious." "I saw that one, but I prefer darker beers. They taste less like carbonated piss to me." She raises her glass. "I'm glad you found something you like, though." She sets down her glass. "So. What were you doing at Axiom that night?" He nods towards the stout "Normally, so do I. But this is light on the carbonation and tastes more of ..." his voice trails off as he considers "pine than piss." A smile. "And the short answer, Ms. McCrory, was helping Mr. Cruz with his investigation - your investigation. As you may have noticed, Mr. Cruz and I are in similar lines of work, but have very different skillsets. I had not been expecting to see you and Ms. d'Galdis." "I hadn't been expecting to go there either, but Cerriphan said she wanted to go out. I honestly didn't want to go in there, but she did. But now that I think about it, it makes me wonder if it was a setup somehow." She frowns. "And honestly, with the way you made yourself less than unobtrusive, I've already let Mr. Cruz know that I'd prefer your involvement in that case to be at a minimum. At least take a step back from field work. Mr. Cruz has Jason's laptop and the passwords I had for it, which got into email and Facebook, as well as the laptop itself, which should make things easier for you." "Seeing you both there was a surprise to me." He pauses before continuing, "as to the other, I can avoid much of the fieldwork from here on in. My trip to Axiom was far from fruitless." "I gotta admit... with things expanding the way they are, I'm less than comfortable with more people working on it, because it puts more people at risk." "I understand that." His voice is soft, and he takes a sip of his beer "the last thing I want is to see more innocent people harmed." "That said, the police department has either dropped the ball on this so hard it sank into the earth's core or they're being paid off. Either one is disturbing." Marcus nods, thoughtfully. "Based on my observations at Axiom, my money is on the payoff, but I could be wrong. There is more work there I want to do - digitally, this time." "Be careful. It's amazing the shit people can track these days." She smirks. Marcus chuckles, resisting the urge to show off before sipping his beer again. "Don't worry - I will be. Coming back in a bag is not high on my to-do list this month." His words are jocular, his tone deadly serious. "You think that's a risk here." It's not a question. He nods, solemnly. "I'm sorry, I had planned to come and apologize for spoiling your evening the other night. I didn't plan on being so dour." "The evening was not fated to go well to begin with. You probably distracted me from doing something I would have later regretted, but we'll never know for sure, now, will we?" Her gaze is fixed quite firmly on Marcus. She's clearly still a little salty but mollified enough to let it slide. For now. His gaze fixes back on hers. His voice is soft, "No, we won't. Though that is probably for the best, in the long run." Marcus pulls his phone from his pocket, he looks at the number, and does not recognize it. "Ms. McCrory, excuse me for a moment. I should take this." He gets up and steps outside as he answers. "Hello?" Lizzy sends a quick text, then picks up her knitting once more. Marcus walks back into the Tap Room and resumes his seat "I'm terribly sorry about that, Ms. McCrory. That was an old friend of mine from Montreal. He's just arrived in town and was hoping to use my spare room for a couple of days while he gets settled. I hope you don't mind if he joins us?" "Well, considering all the business stuff is concluded, sure. How good are you at small talk?" She can't help but grin. Her hands are kept busy with the knitting, thankfully. They're also metal needles, to add to any potential relief there. He cocks an eyebrow, and deadpans "Fucking terrible." Unfortunately, he can't keep a straight face and breaks into a wide grin. "So is there a baseball team here, or is everybody Astros fans?" It's a controlled moment of utter self-mockery. "About what I figured." She took him dead on his word the first time, then smirks when he asks about baseball. "This place is a little new to have its own team but give it time. I'm sure Mr. Gordon could build or buy one outright if he was inclined to have one here." There's no mockery in her tone. "Well, coming from Canada, I'm more of a hockey fan, of course." Deliberately emphasizing his Carolina accent for a laugh. "Do you play?" "Nope. I do run, though. I try to get it done early in the day, at least in the summer, otherwise, it's ridiculously hot outside, and treadmill running is fucking depressing. It's harder without my running buddy, but I manage." She smiles softly. "I've always hated the treadmill. It would put you to sleep, if you weren't forced to keep your legs moving. Though I bet the trail by the river is a great 5K." "It totally is. They have one there every year in July, usually for St. Jude's Children's Hospitals." He smiles for a moment, "I usually run late at night. I enjoy being the only one on the trail in the evening." "Yeah, lucky you being able to do that with some relative safety and comfort." Lizzy forces a smile. He nods, understanding the at-least-two implications of the statement. "Well, if you'd like to join me one night, you'd be welcome to." His tone doesn't suggest an ulterior motive to the invitation. "Depends on how late my shift goes. Work tends to be pretty draining." "I understand. The invitation is open if you'd like." At about this time, a dapper gentleman wanders in. he is wearing a three piece suit. a blush of health still on his skin. Passing for human has always been easy for him, except for his inhuman eyes... they must be contacts? they are contacts? right? Blackett opens the door and surveys the room, immediately spotting Mr. Antoninus. He smiles broadly and puts his cane under his elbow. "Mr. Antoninus! How has my favourite assistant been keeping himself? I presume by this point much greater things than my assistant?" Lizzy sets down her knitting as the unfamiliar gentleman walks in. Marcus rises, extending his hand to shake, and exclaims "Mr. Blackett! Wonderful to see you, old friend. I hope you're keeping well. I'd like to introduce you to my friend, Lizzy McCrory. Ms. McCrory, Mr. Giles Blackett - an old friend from home." Mr. Blackett extends a hand to Lizzy, his British accent ringing out. "Ms. McCrory, it is so nice to finally meet you. Mr. Antoninus has said so many lovely things about you. I see you are a master of the fabric arts? I feel like it is a pursuit that does not receive the attention it should. It truly is a craft, one that the Loom will never over shadow." Lizzy takes the offered hand for a handshake. "...has he now?" She sounds half suspicious, half amused. She then shoots Marcus a look that could promise doom later. "And I knit in my spare time, yes. Making a friend a pair of socks as a thank-you gift for something he's doing for me." "That my dear, is wonderful! It is a skill... well to be frank... us blue bloods are not not good at skills, and as such I truly respect those that possess that which I do not have." "Well, if you want to learn, tonight's a great night for it!" She gestures to the pile of donated yarn, hooks, and needles for those wanting to try it out, though at this stage of the evening, things have probably thinned out some. "Oh! yes, I am not sure if you can teach an old... whatever I am new tricks, but I would love to learn!" "Well, grab some yarn and either a pair of needles or a hook, cop a squat, and we'll get you sorted. It doesn't even need to be pretty at this stage. Once you have the basic steps down, it's all variations on a theme from there." Lizzy smiles. "Umm dear, please pretend I am a 2-year-old with his first time with a thumb... Which one is the hook?" She snorts, then puts her own knitting away. "I would imagine you know what a hook looks like, in principle." She then walks over and holds one up. "I think crochet might actually be easier for you to pick up than knitting at this point, because if you mess something up, it's easier to recover from." Marcus is looking at the situation, and takes up a spare pair of needles himself, and flashes a grin across the table. Mr. Blackett glances at Marcus, "I do believe I just got relighted to the simpleton's class. And we are not even 30 seconds into the lesson." He picks up the crochet hook. She chuckles. "Crochet also goes a lot faster than knitting, so it's good for people who get impatient." She then shows Mr. Blackett how to hold the hook comfortably. Marcus looks up "Don't worry, old friend. You may have a chance at success." He grins as the knitting needles behave like chop sticks in his hands. Once she's comfortable that Mr. Blackett will at least avoid poking himself in the eye with the crochet hook, she moves to Marcus. "Now, for you, since you've opted to go the knitting route... which I'm actually not terribly surprised by, but there you have it..." She shows Marcus the basics of casting on. "Both of them have elements that will at least be familiar to you, if you're a coder, since really, knitting and crochet are pretty much applied programming. Think of them as different programming languages; each one will create the same end result, such as a hat or a scarf or a garment, but just in a different way, with different properties." Mr. Blackett perks up when he hears coder... as he is desperately trying the next stitch. "Oh! coder? like touring! I always thought it was silly what they did to him just due to the fact he was a bit of a poofter" "Silly. Yeah. Try horrific." Lizzy frowns. "But yes, like Turing." A vaguely familiar voice remarks in passing, "Hey Cheryl, it's Richard Mayhew." There is a boyish giggle following the observation. "...Maddy, really? How do you even remember that night?" The woman's voice telegraphed the eyeroll. "You started it. You're the one who said you met a girl and called her Door on accident. At least giving her your number got us out of Michigan." They are lost in the general buzz. Blackett cocks his head as the two wander in. He squints his eyes for a little too long. Then a dawn of realization crosses his face. Realizing they were indicating him, he comes over, "Maddy... and... Cheryl... it has been what? 5 years since... “ He smiles broadly, "How are you two doing? And your friend... I am sorry I can't remember his name. Did he get home safe?" Seeing as Mr. Blackett has gotten himself distracted, she focuses her instruction on Marcus. "Pro tip: the wrist movement for knitting is sufficiently different from keyboard work that it helps counter carpal tunnel." It's like she has done this with programmers before... "Everyone got home safe, yeah. Haven't seen you in a while either..." Maddy is equally chatty, but the pair of them is gently steering Blackett back to the table and his yarn project. Cheryl is on her phone, texting. Then she looks up. "I didn't know you organized this, Lizzy. Did you want to have one at the coffee shop sometime?" Cheryl pushes her dark brown hair out of her face. He lets himself get steered. "I am back in town to visit our old friend Door. " he says with a wink, but trying to catch her before she finishes the text. "I was hoping to surprise her that I was in town. Any of you that know Ms. Ashview able to let her know an unnamed friend is in town?" "...she doesn't know?" Lizzy was about to respond to Maddy, but even juicier gossip seems to have surfaced. She looks at all of the other folks now gathered at her table, vaguely perplexed. "Are you going to...?" Maddy is right on Cheryl's heels with the question. Blackett is picking up the needles, and for anyone that is really paying attention... he is pretending to be worst at it than he actually is. "It would be great if someone let her know a friend is here... but even better if she didn't know it was me specifically until she got here." "Yeah, sure...but why?" "Because, I have not seen her in years... and it would be a nice surprise. She called me last night and left a message. I am not sure she was expecting me to respond so fast though" "Wait. What?" Mutual confusion. Cheryl is amending her text and pauses, frowning. Maddy is still driving the conversation. "Did you guys break up or something?" More blank stares from Lizzy, then a long stare in Mr. Blackett's direction as she starts putting a few things together. "I... no... we have been busy with our own things, like two stars orbiting. Without each other they are nothing." In fact, while Blackett seems distracted, Lizzy pulls out her phone and appears to be taking a selfie. Fucking millennials. Cheryl looks up from her phone. "She says she has a gig tonight, can we meet up at the coffee shop later." "Sure! I presume the two of you can direct me correctly this shop when the time is appropriate. In the meantime, I can try and finish this stitch while you tell me what you have been up to?" "We just stopped in before getting to work, but we'll talk tonight?" A polite dodge. "Of course." As seems to be common in these hipster lairs, there is space for local bands to perform. One such group is setting up as the stitch'n'bitch progresses. Maddy and Cheryl say some quick goodbyes and duck out. Lizzy has kept herself occupied with her phone while they were chatting. When Cheryl and Maddy leave, she raises an eyebrow with an amused grin. Blackett stays concentrated on his stitch, not looking up, "Yes Ms. Lizzy, you seem to have something to say?" "Pull the loop through two of the loops, not one, or you'll just end up with a perpendicular chain," she coaches gently. "Did Mr. Antoninus tell you Ms. Ashview was my boss?" "No, not at all, just simply said that he was sitting with a friend." Blackett glances at Marcus looking for a clue as to where the conversation is going, "But I am unsurprised she would snatch up someone a lovely and talented as the person I see before me. What, if I may, do you do for our Ms. Ashview?" "I'm a bartender. You caught me on a rather regular night off." She chuckles. The band is running their last sound check as quietly as one can manage these things in a warehouse devoted to drinking and showing off brewing equipment via glass walls. He looks around the record shop, "Here?" He looks around the room looking for a bar counter near the stage. "Goodness, no. Ms. Ashview doesn't own this place, and I don't drink socially where I work. That just invites people nosing into your business more than I'm comfortable with." "Ah, I see. I apologize, I do not know this town very well I must admit" "It sounds like you are pretty dang far from home, Mr. Blackett. But not to worry. We'll get you sorted right and proper." "Well, home is London, but I have not been there for a few decades. Lately the town of Montreal is where I "hang my hat" as it were." The sounds of the guitar warming up slowly evolves into the opening few bars of Simon & Garfunkel's Scarborough Fair/Canticle. Shortly thereafter, two voices, one male and one very distinctive female, begin weaving the paired lyrics, her voice hauntingly weaving itself around his, somehow not overshadowing her duet partner's own excellence. Blackett was going on chatting "You see, I have...." and he cuts off his sentence the second the siren starts singing, no apology or second word. He simply stops and turns to the stage. He is sitting on the edge of his chair. he is stone still unmoving, naturally so. Lizzy lets out a world-weary sigh and picks up her knitting. Not that she doesn't enjoy it, but she hears it on the regular. The singing seems to have the same effect on most of the bar, the conversation hushing and the only sounds the soft thumps of glasses on tabletop and the splash of pints being drawn. The duet shifts to Sound of Silence then the man, who turns out to be a scruffy-looking, hipsterish rectangle slightly taller than his duet partner, announces the band as a group senior thesis in composition and performance from New Albion university. "We are lucky enough to have New Albion's own Lady Nightbird covering for one of our members. Janet lost her voice because of the damn weather." He goes on to explain the concept of the thesis, which is boring, but they are back to the performance soon enough. This might be a final dress rehearsal with audience. It is surprisingly good, mixing original compositions with arrangements of more familiar popular music. After about six songs, the lead singer, now identified as Zeke, grins half-shyly at the audience. "Thanks for putting up with that. When we come back we'll be more entertaining." With that, the spell is broken, and the general noise of bar swells back up to fill the space. Blackett’s spell is not broken. Marcus leans over towards Blackett and whispers - somewhat sardonically "There goes your surprise, old friend," before turning to face the stage himself. Over by the stage, the band is engaged in serious discussion, undoubtedly about the contents of their project and what final adjustment need to be made. Some of the other music majors from the audience are standing around with skeins of yarn tucked under one arm and a project underway between their hands, working by muscle memory. They seem overly bright, slightly too animated. Probably the beer. There seems to be a lot of beer headed their direction. She's not even supposed to be here tonight. But here's Lizzy, rolling into the employee lounge. She flops a bit gracelessly on the couch once she notes it's unoccupied and lets out a frustrated groan. "UUUUUUUUUGH!" Cerriphan - Today at 6:50 PM Suddenly, Cerriphan! It's as if she materialized from nothing, suddenly popping her head next to the arm of the couch-- wait, when did she get into the employee lounge? That was a little too strange! "Lizzy-friend!" Lizzy McCrory (Dirty Mortal) - Today at 6:50 PM Lizzy screams when Cerriphan pops out of nowhere, and it makes her scramble up off the couch. "HOW THE FUCK DID YOU GET HERE?!" Cerriphan - Today at 6:51 PM Cerriphan looked confused briefly. "I was telling Miss Doris that I was coming to seeing you, Miss Lizzy!" Lizzy McCrory (Dirty Mortal) - Today at 6:51 PM "But you didn't tell ME!" she blurts out. "FUCK'S SAKE, CERRIPHAN." Cerriphan - Today at 6:53 PM The trash panda recoiled like a kicked dog, inching down behind the arm of the couch with a furrow of her brows. A low whine escaped her throat. "I am sorry! I was wanting to surprising you! I got you a gift!" Lizzy McCrory (Dirty Mortal) - Today at 6:54 PM "Well, you definitely surprised me..." She takes a few breaths to hopefully lower her heart rate to something acceptable. "...wait, a gift? For me?" Cerriphan nodded sharply, placing what appeared to be a rather heavy gift bag on the floor beside the couch. It had ... Christmas decorations on it. That was a rather old looking bag. Second-hand? Lizzy looks at the bag apprehensively, but then she picks it up and tentatively opens it... Inside was... a Russian Nesting Doll. With her face on it. THAT'S NOT CREEPY AT ALL, RIGHT? Cerriphan still smiled eagerly and gestured. "Opening it up! The gift is being inside!" The diverse alarms from her employee lounge have summoned the lioness from the depths of her lair and into the doorway of the "office." The bronze crushed velvet dressing gown might be a bit much, but the spatha in her hand is possibly more worrisome. There is no sheath for it to go back into slung onto the dressing gown's sash and Doris is holding it as if she is tolerably well-acquainted with its use. The ferocity in her expression is disconcerting. Once she realizes that nobody is assaulting anyone else, the blade is lowered, and her free hand is run through her disarranged hair. It looks like she was in the process of taking it down when the shouting started. "Jesus Christ, the hell was all that noise for?" Lizzy smiles sheepishly. "Sorry, ma'am. Cerriphan popped out of nowhere and scared me." "What is she doing in my employee lounge?" The question is rather pointed. "Fuck if I know!" "I told you I was coming to seeing Lizzy!" The bundle protested, still confused. "But this is not a space for people who do not work here...and she is only here because I asked her to meet me. How long have you been waiting?" There is noticeable confusion on the armed and dangerous dame's face. "Since I was having asking you," she mumbled, "I thought it was okay. There is being couches and relaxing things here!" Cerriphan looked longingly to the gift, sad. It remained unopened. And remained looking disturbingly similar to Lizzy. Lizzy sighs. "May I?" "Do continue." Doris whisks out of sight back into her office, most likely to put away her sword and make herself more presentable. The trash panda had the decency to look sheepish, now, sinking further onto the floor and frowning-- and still peering at Lizzy with her gift. Lizzy finally opens the gift in earnest... And if she wasn't already on edge from literally everything else tonight, she would be now. "...how... did you make this?" "I was remembering your face. And I am being a handy wood-worker, you know? Yes, yes. Painting is fun to doing with people you are wanting to giving cherished presents to." Within the nesting doll was...! A smaller wooden container, decorated with intricate flowers and red little lizards. Lizzy Lizard. There was something inside the wooden container, too, likely. Lizzy chuckles, and while it's a bit uneasy still, she seems to have calmed down a little. "I was called Lizard in elementary school. I only figured out how to do the wide-eyed unblinking stare and tongue flick to scare them out of it in sixth grade." She then opens the box... Cerriphan stared at her with unblinking eyes, the smile never moving from her expression. "I am hoping you are liking it. That is sounding like you were making good of it, yes. Within the box was-- ANOTHER BOX?! No, it wasn't another box. It was a pair of red-jeweled lizard earrings! Meanwhile, Doris has quietly reappeared in the doorway to the office. She leans on the door jamb and watches the Malkavian and the human with the sort of watchful predator protectiveness one would expect of the "mama bear" Crowley occasionally accuses her of being. "Oh!" Lizzy seems very surprised by the whole thing. "These are lovely. Thank you." A success! Cerriphan beams, standing. "I am glad you are liking the things, Lizzy-friend. I was hoping to making up-- for poor nights out, yes." "I appreciate it." She smiles sweetly at Cerriphan. "But maybe we shouldn't go back there until the case is wrapped, yeah?" "Yes. I won't! I am remembering this." Her shoulders dropped from relief. "I made sure there was ice cream in the freezer and other snacks in the pantry and refrigerator,"Doris interjects quietly. "Why are you worried about a blur between your professional and personal lives?" The question, coming from a woman who until this very evening was known to have no appreciable social life, is potentially hilarious. Lizzy puts the gift back together as it was presented and slips it back in the bag. "Because, to be quite frank, things have gotten pretty dangerous, and I don't want to put folks at risk." "Life is risk, Elizabeth." This is said gently, for all the formality and gravity inherent in the use of Lizzy's full name. "However, I can assure you that the idiot boys currently distressing you are perfectly capable of managing themselves. Even that graceless Brit of mine." Cerriphan turned her head a few times around like an animal trying to discern if things were safe. "I can taking care of mine self too!" Somehow, that was doubtful, like -really- doubtful, but she smiled and said it anyway. Lizzy sighs. "Mr. Antoninus has apologized and things have calmed down from there. What I'm scared of is that this is starting to dig up some scary stuff. Drug running. Someone capable of covering things up with the cops. I don't want folks who aren't directly involved in investigating things to put themselves in harm's way, you know?" "I know. But you cannot stop people who care about you from doing so and doing what they believe is right." She sighs. "Wanting to keep them safe shows you care about them as well. If only because you are a good woman with a compassionate heart." Lizzy lets out a shuddering sigh, and tears start to give her eyes a high sheen, threatening to fall. "And if they get hurt by this, because they're getting involved, what does that accomplish? I mean, Balcésar won't even let me pay him now." "If we achieve justice for your brother, it will be worth a few cuts and scrapes." There is a lofted eyebrow but no comment on being on a first-name basis with the surly Spaniard. Doris pads over to a side table and collects a box of tissues, then comes to sit on Lizzy's other side, away from the arm where Cerriphan is perched. Or lurking. Both? "Y'all are way too kind to me." She takes a tissue. "It's like y'all are living at a whole 'nother level than me." Apparently, when Lizzy is upset, the accent gets stronger. "You are no use to me dead or too emotionally compromised to work." Gentle humor. "So I must look after you and your well-being, yes? Good bartenders are difficult to find...and when the good bartender can also help one get ready to -how do they say it these days? Slay?- one is particularly devoted." Cerriphan peeked from behind the couch arm again, deciding to pipe up. "Slaying, girl, slaying!" Apparently, that was her contribution to the discussion. She looked plum pleased over it. Lizzy chuckles and sniffles a bit but doesn't seem to be much more at ease. "...did you need help getting your hair down the rest of the way? Or were you putting it back up?" "I have no idea. I am not even certain I wish to keep my date at this point. You are upset and need a shoulder to cry on...boys can wait." Doris sounds serious. She is also in what must count for her "staying in" clothing - a too-big dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up thrown over a bronze silk slip that must have been the base layer of her outfit at the brewery. The shirt is buttoned in the middle and seems only casually interested in doing its job of being clothing. She can't help but smile at that. "Hey, at least you have boys." "A cat would be less exasperation." Dry amusement around the edges of her observation. "Look at all the trouble boys cause. Even the ones we cherish." "Yeah, but, like, full-service orgasms." Perhaps it is a trick of the light or perhaps it is simply some really heavy-duty foundation, but the only visible indication that Lizzy's comment has struck close to the mark is a slight turn of Doris' head in an odd sort of ducking motion. The little muscles of the other woman's face twitch as well, adding weight to the suggestion. "...I do miss those." "I don't even remember the last time I had one. I'd only just opted to start datin' again after the mess with Andrew... an' then Jason had ta up an' die." The mess with Andrew was a year ago. About three different cheating accusations and a chlamydia scare later, a three-year relationship went up in flames. "...five years." It is quiet, but the softness is poignant. The topic is quickly shifted. "Do I need to hunt down Andrew and educate him on the finer points of not being a shitheel?" "No." Lizzy's tone is firm. "That was a year ago now. He's wallowing in his own misery. But thank you for offering." "You are certain?" "Yes. Save it for Mr. Blackett." Another arched eyebrow. "How has he vexed you this evening?" "He called Alan Turing a poofter." The facepalm is audible. "...I thought the vapors bit was bad..." "The man was a fucking pioneer of programming who was chemically castrated for being gay, and dude's like 'oh what a shame.'" "Elizabeth. Remember to breathe." There is an eloquent sigh, on the subject of breathing. "I will address it with him." She takes a deep breath. "I think I covered it at the time it happened. If he is as quick a study as you say, he shouldn't do that again." "I will still address it." Her tone suggests there is some underlying secondary issue that is also on the table. "Okay. If you like." She shrugs. "I just... I kinda want all this nonsense to be done, y'know? Like, I'm glad I didn't miss the fact that there was something deeply wrong with how Jason's case was handled, but, I'm ready to move on. But I can't." "Trust Mister Cruz, if you cannot trust the police. We shall have justice for him, so you can sleep easily at night knowing he was done right by." "I do trust him. He's been amazingly helpful in all of this. Even recommended a therapist. Still." "Go to therapy. Talk it out with a trained professional instead of with your boss who might also be something of a friend at this point. Would you like a hug?" Lizzy laughs. "Welp, I guess keeping that shit separate is impossible now, so why not?" The hug is genuine and warm. The woman is slightly cool to the touch, but they are also in a basement and Doris only barely passes for dressed in private company, so that is probably why. "I am sorry he has gone on ahead of you, girl. But he will wait. You will catch up eventually," she murmurs against the side of Lizzy's head. "Huh?" she says softly, not quite understanding (even as her player totally does). Still, she accepts the hug and returns it warmly. Doris clears her throat and then recites, her voice making music of the poem in spite of her best efforts otherwise: "Death is nothing at all./I have only slipped away to the next room./I am I and you are you./Whatever we were to each other, /That, we still are. Call me by my old familiar name./Speak to me in the easy way/which you always used./Put no difference into your tone./Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed/at the little jokes we enjoyed together./Play, smile, think of me. Pray for me./Let my name be ever the household word/that it always was./Let it be spoken without effect./Without the trace of a shadow on it. Life means all that it ever meant./It is the same that it ever was./There is absolute unbroken continuity./Why should I be out of mind/because I am out of sight? I am but waiting for you./For an interval./Somewhere. Very near./Just around the corner. All is well. Nothing is past; nothing is lost. One brief moment and all will be as it was before only better, infinitely happier and forever we will all be one together with Christ." A pause. "Henry Scott Holland." Lizzy takes a deep breath and purses her lips. "Nice. Hard to apply now, but nice." "I have a more philosophical relationship with death that most, I admit. But you will catch up to him eventually. Do not spend your time wishing the moment were now." Another quick squeeze. "Thanks..." Lizzy seems a bit uneasy at the idea, but she accepts the comfort in the spirit in which it was given. "You have far too much left to accomplish." Reassuring. "Now. How would my makeup artist/stylist/favorite bartender suggest I prepare myself for an unexpected and awkward date?" Time to distract before Lizzy starts thinking too hard about her weird friendboss and her weird friend who is still lurking quietly nearby, pleased her present was well-received. "Honestly? A little disheveled. It would throw him off. Make him vulnerable. I think he is already sort of there, but..." Lizzy looks up and takes out the remaining pins, gently, then combs her hair out a bit with her fingers. It has body but doesn't look like a rat's nest. "And bulletproof eyeliner. No mascara, in case he makes you cry." "Valkyries never cry, darling." The breezy delivery almost makes her completely believable. Almost. Her face is still made up from the brewery, all low-key pale shimmer on the lid and virtually no wings to the eyeliner. "What to wear?" "Are you expecting it to be on the floor or pushed out of the way later?" "I have no idea what to expect, honestly." "Then panties for sure, but maybe not expensive ones. Something easy to get in and out of, but not too revealing. Just something to give him a hint of what he has missed for the past five years." There is a moment of perfect silence. Then a second one joins it. "I... had not considered being in a position where anyone was going to see my underthings." "Girl." Lizzy looks at Doris dead-on. "He could not look at anything else when you took the stage earlier. Being taken to Pound Town on the fuck truck is on the table. You might be too, if he can't wait and neither can you." More silence. Then, in what is possibly the most adorable show of flustered Lizzy has ever seen, her normally poised and self-possessed boss hunches her shoulders and hides her face in her hands. Lizzy can't help it. She laughs, then moves to give Doris a hug. "But most importantly, be yourself. The rest will follow." There is a tiny squeak. "...it is good you are laughing, even if it is at my expense." "I'm sorry..." She says it through the laughter, and yet it still seems sincere. "All will be just fine, I am sure. He adores you. That much I can tell." "What did the idiot say this time?" Tolerant amusement. It is almost the same sort of pitch and tone Doris uses to talk about Marcus Gordon, but there are subtle differences. "He didn't have to say anything. It was in the way he looked at you." She releases Doris from the hug and brushes a tendril out of her face. "I'll be okay, eventually. Will you?" "I am an old fox. I did not get to be so because I was not a survivor." There is a grimness in her half-smile. "Okay then. Go get 'im, Foxy." "You will let Cerriphan walk with you home, yes? " Maternal prompting. She's still here, you guys. "Lizzy-friend!" Cerriphan is just creeping behind the couch. "Sure. Why not.” The trash panda scooted and danced toward the door immediately, coaxing Lizzy along. No doubt she would be the perfect person to accompany back home. Or not. She was good for late night strolls, for sure. Lizzy picks up the gift bag, blows Doris a kiss, then heads for the door. Doris waits for her guests to leave before having the mother of all anxiety attacks about literally everything including the contents of her closet, her, and her reason for existence. Eventually, she gets sorted out and heads to the coffee shop. There is a conference in the manager's office. Cheryl keeps peering out the little window in the door, scanning the room for the expected group of people to show up in their ones and twos. So far, nothing. Perhaps that is a good thing. "I'm serious. I think he's going to propose or something. That's why he wants to surprise her by being here!" Maddy has a narrative for the situation and is going to run it into the ground. Cheryl snorts. "Not elaborate enough of a setup. You've met him, right? Like. Really. Think it through. Jesus." A thoughtful pause. "What if she says no?" "See! You do think it's possible." He beams at her, pleased with himself. "Shit. She's here. I don't see them..." Cheryl watches as the woman in question glides into the coffee house with the sort of precision demanded of four-inch heels, platform or otherwise. Against recommendation, her dress is ankle length, the sheer bronze lace overlaying an equal length slip of that exact shade of burnt orange that compliments her hair. Elbow-length gloves, hair in soft disarray. She finds a chair and proceeds to command the space. Waiting. Slowly, the humans in the room clear out. Prey can sense an angry predator in their midst, whether they know it or not. Eventually, the Kindred is left utterly alone. At about this point, a well-dressed gentleman, in a three-piece suit enters the shop. He does not even remotely look about, almost like he knows who is present without even looking. Marcus Antoninus enters beside him. The Gentleman walks up to the closest barista and orders a simple espresso and begins to sip it. "She's over there." The barista seems to have been expecting them. This is either a good or a bad sign. Once the order is filled, the barista makes himself scarce. There is a scrambled, furtive scurry away from the office window as well. Blackett looks up and see her, the other half of his heart. He orders a second espresso, expecting they understand what she needs to drink. Wandering over he hands her the drink and smiles. "You are not easy to surprise." The light reflecting from the bronze lace has made a haze about her, a sort of halo. She does not reach for the offered cup. She does not rise or move or in any way to indicate her emotional state. Unless the observer is adept at reading the subtle muscle movements of her face and body. There is a different story to be read there. "The only person better informed about the comings and goings in this city is Johnathan Crowley." She considers her next statement carefully for a few moments. "You said you heard me singing. Do you remember what?" A test. Then again, everything with Doris Valeria is a test. As if of its own accord, the fingers of her left hand begin drumming on the arm of the chair, an erratic, meaningless tattoo. Marcus orders the same as Blackett, and follows him towards the table, taking a small sip of his own espresso, and smiling. There is a brief inquiring glance flicked Marcus' way, as if the seated woman is looking for some sort of sign or indication from him. What that might be is unclear. At first, his eyes widen slightly at the sight of her, and he breaks into a warm smile. Quickly, almost imperceptibly glancing towards Blackett, and Doris, and back again, he seems to lose his sense of certainty for a moment but recovers quickly. His characteristic grin appears, and he deadpans "You'll never believe who showed up this evening." "Belief is not necessary, for I have the evidence here before me. I am breathless with anticipation as to the cause." She sounds both pleased and displeased at the same time. Somehow. Again, her emotional state flits below the surface of her impassive mask, shifting too quickly to interpret. There seems to be a distinct slant emerging, however. Blackett says nothing but starts humming the bars of the song that reached him the night before that caused him to take the red eye. The mask slips, cracks...then shatters. Relief, predominantly, but also at last joy and delight. She picks up the lyrics mid-line, singing along softly until there is nothing left to sing. Then she reaches out for Blackett's free hand. "I am sorry I bothered you." Marcus sips at his coffee quietly for a moment, before looking at the two "Perhaps I should let you two get reacquainted...?" Blackett places his hand in hers and lets the warmth of it fill her cold palms, but he turns to Marcus, "No! Old friend! I unfortunately do not have a lot of time to spare. Mr. Oscar, did you meet Oscar? Of the movement. Well he found some friends that fall outside of the treaties, and I will have to return to help root them out. I only really have this evening, and maybe tomorrow evening. I wanted to surprise dear Doris, and I was hoping to catch up with both of you with the time I have." Blackett pauses, "That said, now that I have met up with you both, I should present myself to... Mr. Gordon is it?" There is a swift flash of disappointment across her face at the suggestion this is not going to be a particularly long visit, but she smothers it ruthlessly. Her grip tightens imperceptibly. Unwilling to let go. Marcus nods at Oscar's name. "Yes, yes I know him - he found more?" He sounds incredulous. "But enough about work for now - though a presentation to Mr. Gordon will be needful." She shakes her head. "My knowing will be sufficient if you are not staying long. I am the Human Resources director, after all." "Oh good, that means more time with my friends! Very good then, so long as all of my talents and role are known, I am happy" Another subtle hand squeeze. Her smile is brittle at the edges. "Yes. Of course." "You know me, must make sure all the "i"s are dotted, and so on and so forth" He squeezes her hand back. "Now I feel like I have taken people from their appointed tasks. I do not wish to be a bother. Please do not let me take you away from your business. Or if there is anything I can do to make your evening smoother" "Sit. Please. Both of you. Enjoy the espresso. That is a good start." Slightly too bright, slightly too fast. Blackett smile, and stands moving in for a small embrace, "I have missed you so." holding both of her hands in his and looking into her eyes." and he whispers something in her ear. When he reaches back, "I ran into Maddy would you believe!" Doris' smile is unsteady. She murmurs back, then, "I hired him. I hired both of them." "This is a lovely little town, very modern. Maybe I should visit more often, get to know her a bit better" Marcus looks up questioningly "You hired whom?" As he sips his espresso "Maddy and Cheryl. They run this shop. It was half of an idea I had. They seemed the sort to make up the other half and make it work. Somewhere safe for people who prefer the hours between dusk and dawn or who need a haven of quiet." She gestures at the humans who are now slowly slinking back into the room now that the old fox is not radiating generalized disapproval like a leaky nuclear power plant. "Of course. I should have known you would have a bar and a café." A chuckle. Blackett is still standing up, holding both of Doris' hands. "And I should have known you would have hired him" "Giles. Sit. Was the bar open when you were here last? I cannot recall. Marcus plays piano, did you know that? Sometimes he even lets me sing along." Still slightly off, forced cheerfulness slowly finding its way to truth. "I don't recall, the last time was a bit of a blur as I was on my way to speak with Pri... Olaf Magnusson" Blackett takes his hands back and sits. a nail digs into his forearm subtly as he does so. Her hand reaches out to rest on his near forearm, reassuring. It almost seems to be an automatic reflex. "We shall have to stop by before you...where are you staying?" "I rented a room via AirBnB, a dingy little basement suite, but it serves its purpose" "Ugh. Really? With friends in town?" Her tone is teasing. "I will be glad to show you my latest cage." Blackett smiles "Well, I guess I will lose that $50 deposit I put down when I cancel! I did not wish to presume." with equal jest in his voice "You are always welcome." She does not presume to speak for Marcus. Marcus nods thoughtfully "I suppose I could pull out a couple of tunes for an old friend." He stresses the "suppose" for effect. He smiles "Mr. Blackett, you are always welcome under my roof, old friend. You should know that" He too, is teasing. Blackett’s eyes dart back and forth between Doris and Marcus for a split second, a moment of confusion, before hiding it and continuing on "So you have picked up the piano? Music has never been a talent. Always the chorus, I am afraid" "You are hardly that bad, Giles. I have heard enough of it to be a fair judge." A gentle pat on his forearm. Blackett sings a couple notes of "Happy Birthday" notably flat, and with a slight grin on his face. "Well, regardless, I look forward to seeing someone more skilled then I" he indicates Marcus. "You did that on purpose." Chiding. "I have heard you in the shower when you thought I was busy elsewhere." "Hrmpphh, well." he clears his throat Marcus raises his espresso in Blackett's direction "If you'd like, I'll even play a number for you to join me on!" "If you gentlemen are finished with your coffees..." The third espresso remains untouched because no, it is not Doris friendly. They do not usually serve her kind here. Marcus glances towards Blackett and takes the last sip of his. Blackett has a final sip from his coffee, grabs all three cups, with a last check to his two friends "your both done?" and walks them over to the barista counter. "Bad for the voice," she lies. Once Blackett has returned to within arm's reach, Doris offers a hand to both him and Marcus, inclusive. Letting them both help her up. "Perhaps that is why I sing so poorly, I do love my coffee. A terrible habit I picked up in Cairo" He pulls Doris lightly. Marcus takes her other hand and, with Blackett, helps her to her feet. "Hardly a terrible habit, Mr. Blackett. I wouldn't start my day without at least one or two." Clearly a minor exaggeration, as all members of the party are strictly nocturnal. "Yes, I am quite dead in the morning" Once she liberates her hands temporarily, they are folded in front of her a moment, pressed to her chest. Doris glances between the two significantly taller men a moment, a brittle smile twitching at the corner of her mouth. "My brave knights. Shall we?" Marcus stifles a laugh "So say we all, Mr. Blackett." Turning to Doris, "Yes, we shall." As she steps forward, she very deliberately links arms with the both. "Lead away, ma'am" Marcus flashes a grin and begins humming "Follow the Yellow Brick Road" quietly. "No. I refuse to be baited. Even if one of you already has an apropos nickname." Doris is a touch overdramatically huffy. "Anyway, Mister Moreau is not here and thus the joke is not worth making." "That's true enough. Though," he muses, looking with a grin towards Blackett, "gingham WOULD suit her." There is a falter in her otherwise elegant progress to the door and into the night. She squints disapprovingly at both of them. "No. Absolutely not. I hate dogs." He turns and flashes the cheekiest of grins at her as the walk... wherever it is she's taking them. Out. Away. To as many places as she can before the sun comes up and to collect someone's luggage. Category:Logs